Real Steel: Blackmail
by Spark-308
Summary: Okay, so this is my second draft of the story. I've got some good plot ideas from friends, so, after I decide on which i'm going to use, I shall summarize it here. Might change the name too, lol R&R Please :
1. Chapter 1

-Chapter 1

"You don't understand what I'm telling you, do you?"

Blake looked down at me from eight feet in the air with his blue LED eyes. He just stood at attention; waiting for me to say something. I swiped the sweat off my brow and crossed my arms in frustration. It was blistering hot mid-day, and it didn't seem like it was getting any cooler. Damn California heat. I was tired, the boys were all tired. It's only four o'clock p.m. and it seems like they're already running on empty. We got up at five this morning and have been practicing ever since; and I guess they didn't do all too bad today. They deserved a little break. But could we afford it? We had a big match coming up. Seven thousand just for showing up, and an added ten grand if we win. I could do a lot with seventeen thousand dollars.

No, I had to get this right. "Shane," I called to Blake's "twin" as you can call him. "Show Blake how to do it." Shane perked up and stood off the table he was resting on. He then got into a stance and held his fists up to his chin. He took it from there with a sequence I just got through teaching him. He ducked to his left, then right, stood upright, swung to his right and left and tied it together with a straight uppercut. Blake watched intensely and cocked his head as his brother finished. I put my hands on my hips and looked up at Blake. "What is there not to get?" I asked. He slowly looked behind him and down at me. He turned and tried the sequence again, executing it perfectly. Every swing, every dodge. Perfect. Just like his brother carried out.

"Yes! Oh my god, was that so hard?" I asked with a smile; he finally got it. Blake's engine ran fast and hard a few seconds, like a purr of a muscle car. He was happy he finally did something right.

I walked over to the control panel at the edge of my make-shift boxing ring in the junkyard-like backyard of my parent's old housing complex. The sun simmered the crystal-like dirt that collected in the backyard, creating a blanket of sand over the once green, lush grass I used to run through as I was a kid.

Tires, old machine parts, almost anything anyone needed to keep a robot in working condition sat in unorganized piles all along the entire fence around the acre backyard. The only hard part was finding parts I needed for not one, not two, but four robots. The twins, Blake and Shane, are different in all the same ways. They were built the same time, contain the same parts, look the same, and treat each other like brothers. They each own two different personalities, though. Blake is the trouble maker, while Shane is the one that usually tries to keep Blake _out_ of trouble. They both used to have a matching red color coat over their armor, but recently, they wanted to change for once. I just got them painted a striking midnight blue. All of their dents were removed, they both have new parts, just like new cars they were repaired and refurbished.

Spark is my biggest, tallest, and probably best robot I've ever owned. In fact, he was my first robot I've ever owned. My dad helped me repair him after I found him in pieces after a street match downtown. They just left him there. He was in so many pieces; covered in graffiti, dents all over his body. And they just left him there in the street after he lost what didn't seem to be his first match. So I took him in. My dad wasn't much into robots then, but his machinery was close to that of a car to start with; so he knew how to fix him up. We were best friends ever since. Never lost a match together, never will.

I like to compare his personality to that of Bumblebee from that old movie, Transformers. They act almost exactly alike most of the time and have some of the same looks. Me and my father, we didn't have much we could build him up on, but we did have a gray 2015 Corvette on the lot. We used much of it as the outside plating of his armor. Some interior mechanisms were used, but he's still more robot boxer than car.

One thing that's similar in every last one of my robots is the voice system I put into their wiring. They're from junk cars I found off the lot. They all can talk and hold basic conversations. I also upgraded Blake and Shane's system to voice control from a couple of smart phones. They're conversations are a little more in depth than the others, but it's still the same basic wiring.

I walked past one of my repair tables on my way to the control panel. Zack was on it, leaning against the fence behind him watching our practice from a distance. He looked horrible. His whole lower half of his body is missing; literally, _missing_. We have no idea where any parts of his legs are. He can barely move his arms without pinching vital cords or something falling off of him. He's covered in dents and the orange-yellow color coat he used to have is almost nonexistent. His last round in the ring tore him to pieces.

He rocked himself in boredom as he watched the others fight across the yard and whined when he saw me pass. I stopped at the end of the table and slowly turned as he continued to make the unbearable high pitched noises. His voice box was broken. "No, don't do that," "Pleeezz," he pronounced the best he could. He sounded like a lawn mower running on empty.

"I told you already, not today." He looked away from me. I tried to explain. "Look, it's mid-day and I still have a lot on my plate. I have to make sure the boys are ready for their next fight, find transportation," He kept his gaze across the yard. I could hear his motor running slower and slower every second. He was getting ready to shut down. "But it's going to be ok," I placed a reassuring hand on his lesser damaged arm. He was burning up. Between the California heat and his motors running so hard, his dull armor cooked, burning the palm of my hand; but I stayed firm until he returned his attention.

I had to talk real low so my neighbor brawlers wouldn't get any information on the match and try to join in. "It's a High-Roller match. The bet is up to ten grand. And, when we win this, it's all going towards you. I'll make sure you look and feel just as good as the boys. I promise." I smiled at him and turned to walk away before he could ask any questions.

As I walked, I could feel the weather change. It got a little cooler and I could see rain clouds moving in from the east. Couldn't stay outside much longer. I ran through the programs I had installed on the boys and made sure I had everything ready to go tomorrow. This match was either going to make or break us. I couldn't risk putting anything off until tomorrow. Looks like we're just going to be getting a little wet.

"C'mon, boys. Let's do some runs." I called across the yard. I turned to see Blake and Shane. They both stood upright, side by side. They looked nice. Fresh coat of paint, new engine parts, and I upgraded their voice mechanisms; they even sounded perfect…Everything Zack isn't.

I looked over at Spark and Zack having a conversation about the incoming weather. I promised him I would win him this fight; I can't let him down. We practiced through the rain and heat until light of the next day appeared to the west.


	2. Chapter 2

-Chapter 2

I woke up to my alarm clock. It sounded sick, like Zack's voice box. I've had that thing for years. I kept my face in the pillow and reached to my right to hit snooze, I couldn't find my clock anywhere on my nightstand. I let out a sigh and pushed myself up and onto the edge of my bed. The heat of California already breached my room; and so have the boys. Shane, Blake, and Spark were all crammed into my small room upstairs, sitting in front of my bed waiting for me to get up. Shane held my alarm clock in his hands, examining it. No wonder I couldn't find the thing.

The skin on my arms and legs stuck together like glue from sweat and heat. I swung my legs over the side of my bed and threw the thin sheet that covered me to the floor.

"Are you up?" Spark asked from the foot of my bed. Both the twins tilted their heads in unison to the question. I was tired…Man, was I tired. And that damn alarm clock is still going off.

I fanned air into my shirt as I tried to let my eyes adjust to the somewhat bright light flooding in from my arched window behind Spark. "Yeah," I slowly replied to Spark's monotone question.

I don't remember getting into bed last night; Spark must've brought me in. The last thing I remember is waiting at the control panel for the twins to shut down. I don't think I got a chance to shut down Spark; he's been up all night. Probably in my room. I'll have to charge him before we leave this morning. I swung my legs back and forth and tried to wake up. I felt half asleep. Sweat lined the collar of my tank top and my socks were still filled with dirt kicked up last night during our runs.

"You got the twins up?" I asked Spark. He looked over then down to see me, then answered with a simple, "Yes," "What about Zack, did you get him in last night?" "Yes," He answered once more. The dark red color of the brick walls soaked all of the light up in the room and radiated heat, always making it more than ten degrees hotter in my room than outside. I was burning up.

I slowly stood and realized Shane _still_ had my alarm clock, and it was still going off. I looked over too him before I headed for my bathroom next to Spark and told him, "Put the thing down and leave it alone. Before you break it." It was when Shane put the clock down before turning off the alarm when Blake reached over and carefully pressed the snooze button. "Bathroom: drive straight 2.2 meters, then take an immediate right turn." The boys said in unison. I guess that's what I get for using a hard drive from a smart car.

I felt horrible. Every bone in my body ached and my head throbbed in pain. My knees locked and my legs tried to buckle with every step I took towards the bathroom. My body wanted to stay in bed, at home. An hour of sleep isn't good for anybody. Much less someone like me who has a high roller match to get to the next day. I walked with weariness keeping my eyes closed; not liking the already bright sunlight from the oversized window in my bathroom.

I was about to turn on the faucet in the bathroom when my cell phone rang in the other room. Shane ducked into the small doorway into the bathroom and placed my cell phone next to the sink. I looked at it as it vibrated. The screen flashed on and off. The call was from Ricky, my manager and close friend; I answered.

"Hello?" I answered groggily.

"Yeah, it's me. Wake up, and get your ass out the door. You have a match to go to. It's already 4:20." He stated in his usual smart-ass, monotone voice.

I lowered my phone to the sink and sighed as I wiped the weariness from my face with the back of my hand, glancing over at the clock above my shelves. It read 4:21 a.m.; I _was_ late. Very late.

It took a while to sink in, but when it did, I snapped my phone to my ear. "I'm on my way." I hung up and shoved my phone into my back pocket. I hurried Shane out of the bathroom and into my room. I grabbed some clothes off the end of my bed and yelled, "C'mon guys, we're gonna be late! We have to be there at 5:15," I ran out the door and to the garage with the boys following. I ran down the stairs; almost falling. My socks slid on the slick concrete floor of the garage as I made my way to the pair of keys for the truck I rented on one of the repair tables. "Start loading stuff up!" Blake and Shane both grabbed handfuls of repair bags into their arms and dashed for the van-like truck outside.

"You guys be good," I tried to explain to Spark and Zack, if they were even listening. "don't answer the door for anybody, keep the doors locked, and please," I paused on my way out of the door and turned to face the two. "don't leave the house."

I accidentally slammed the front door shut on my way out of the house. Making my way down the sidewalk to the driveway, I pulled out my car keys; starting the truck as Blake and Shane fit all of the repair bags, and themselves, into the truck bed.

Jumping into the driver's side, I jabbed the keys into the ignition. I turned and looked back behind the front passenger seat as the truck rolled down the steed hill of a driveway to make sure nothing, and everybody, is stable and not sliding around the bed of the truck.

A very long night is ahead of us.


End file.
